


Lemon and Lavender

by Flames and Fairy Tales (Flames_and_Fairy_Tales)



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: And titles, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Lockwood and co discord Garden Party exchange, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post TCS, Sickfic, sick Lucy Carlyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Fairy_Tales/pseuds/Flames%20and%20Fairy%20Tales
Summary: Lucy falls ill during a case, her friends take care of her
Relationships: Lucy Carlyle & George Cubbins, Lucy Carlyle & Holly Munro, Lucy Carlyle & Quill Kipps, Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood (implied)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 67





	Lemon and Lavender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WolfjawsWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfjawsWriter/gifts).



For once, the case the agents of Lockwood and Co were on was simple, and not in the deceptive way that would come back to bite them because they had overlooked something. There was only one Visitor. It was restricted to the basement of Darrigan manor in Kensington because of some great warding, and they had an inkling of where the source was hidden. 

That was not to say that the story behind the haunting was straightforward, though. George had explained the history of the house while they sat around the dining room table of the manor an hour before sunset for some pre-case. It was a mess of affairs and incidents between a married couple and a mistress that had culminated in a murder suicide in the basement, but Lucy could barely recall any of the details. She just knew that it was a good thing all five of them were there. Or all six, if you counted the skull. 

“Luce, what temperature do you got?” George’s voice pulled Lucy out of her musings. 

“Right, sorry,” She muttered, pulling her thermometer from her work belt. The muscles in her arm ached as she held it up. “Ten degrees Celsius,” she read off the lit up display. “I thought it was colder already…” 

“It is quite warm for a haunted basement,” Quill remarked. He was looking around the room through his goggles, one hand close to his rapier, ready for action. It was a big room, the walls lined with old wine racks and an old, tacky Persian rug covering the floor in the centre. It had bare spots that looked like somebody had taken steel wool to it. A lot of dust had whirled up when they dumped their kit on it and created a large iron circle, which sent Lucy into a minute long coughing fit. 

“I’m not seeing anything out of the ordinary either, except for some shockingly cheap wine for a wine cellar. You can buy this stuff in the supermarket.” Quill scoffed. 

“The clients’ bank account may not be as big as they want to make it seem. And if it is, well, you can’t buy good taste.” 

“I think it’s the first option, Lockwood. If they weren’t tight on money, they would’ve hired Fittes or Rotwell.” George said. Lockwood opened his mouth to give a retort, but before he could, Holly spoke up. 

“Uhm, guys?” She started, her voice sounding hesitant but steady. “There’s a colder spot near the chains.” 

“Temperature?” George asked. 

“Seven,” Holly replied. “Does anyone sense anything?” 

There was a moment in which they all used their respective talents, or looked around the room through the goggles, in Quill’s case.

“The Death-glows haven’t changed, but I don’t see anything else,” Lockwood announced. The others affirmed they didn’t see anything either. “Do you hear anything, Luce?” 

“Maybe...” Lucy muttered, closing her eyes to listen closer for a moment. There had to be something. She could feel the headache she got in locations with strong psychic energy building. “A soft sound, like something brushing against leather…” She stated a moment later. After giving herself another moment to pick up sounds, Lucy blinked open her eyes. The room swam for a moment. 

There was nothing to do but wait, so they did. Another half-hour passed without anything happening. 

“God,” Quill groaned. “For a murder-suicide, this basement is unbelievably calm.” 

“Usually I’m not in the business of wishing for a worse haunting, but I get what you mean,” Holly agreed. “I feel like we’re missing something here.”

 _“Miss Munro over there is right for once. You’re too stupid to see what’s right in front of you,”_ A raspy voice spoke up from behind Lucy. The psychic pressure had increased a bit, and she knew there would be a slight green flow peeping out from underneath the flap of her rucksack if she took it off to examine it. She couldn’t be bothered.

“Yeah yeah, we’re all dumb,” Lucy muttered in response. “Feel like sharing your insights with the class?”

_“Oh, it’s obvious, really. I don’t want to spoil your fun.”_

“Was that the skull Luce?” George asked. 

“Yeah,” Lucy sighed and rubbed her temples. “We’re missing something and apparently it should be obvious,” she related the skull’s message. 

“We’re not seeing what’s right in front of us?” George repeated. “There’s nothing here except for those wine racks against the wall and the rug-“

“There is ice on the kitbag,” Quill interrupted suddenly. The five of them turned to look at their equipment, sitting on the rug in the middle of the room. Frost kept up the red kitbag, blooming into ice-y flowers. A moment later two hazy figures appeared, one looming over the other with a long, thin blade in their hand.

Some jobs were like that. One moment there was nothing, the next moment the climax of the haunting played out right in front of them. 

“well,” Holly said, “I think for once the skull in the jar is right…” 

“At least that makes finding and sealing the source a lot easier,” Lockwood muttered.

Clearing the circle without disturbing the apparitions was not an easy task, but the five of them managed it without accidents. Quill and Holly created a larger circle around the ratty old rug with their extra chains, which made the Visitors flicker out of existence. George threw a silver net over it for good measure.

Quill and Lockwood did a final sweep through the basement to ensure they hadn’t missed anything, and Holly helped George pack away the source in one of their kit bags. Lucy stumbled to the nearest wall for support, ignoring the skull theorising about the way the rug was involved in the murder suicide. Normally she would participate in the discussion about whether they should call DEPRAC to come for the rug immediately or to inform the client about the source first, but she didn’t feel up for it. Sealing the source should have relieved the symptoms she had ascribed to consequences of the haunting, but her head kept swimming and her shivering didn’t die down.

Just as Lockwood announces the basement was clear, she collapsed.

* * *

Lucy only remembered bits and pieces of the trip home. Someone helping her out of the manor, the familiar sensation of the five of them being packed together in the back of the cab like sardines in a can, flashes of the Ghost Lamps they passed, the worried whispers of her friends, a large, pale hand resting on her forehead for a moment. 

She was shaken back into awareness a little when the cabbie pulled over in front of 35 Portland Row, shooting a worried look in his rearview mirror while George handed him the money for the fare. 

“Get the girlie under the wool, she looks like she’s got a dreadful cold,” He advised. 

“We will,” Holly promised him. She, Quill, and George took the kitbags while Lockwood draped Lucy’s arm over his shoulders. He had to stoop down a little so she could lean on him properly but didn’t complain about the awkward position as he guided her towards the house. He was far too worried about how sluggishly Lucy was moving. George opened the front door for them. He sent Holly to fetch the thermometer from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom upstairs while he and Quill went to the basement to deposit the kitbags.

Meanwhile, Lockwood guided Lucy to the sofa in the living room. She let him without protest, gratefully sinking into the cushions. Lockwood grabbed the afghan George’s mother had knitted them from the back of the sofa and draped it over her, carefully tucking her in so that only her head was left exposed. She was still shivering. 

Lockwood stepped back as Holly entered the living room with an ear thermometer and a little box of painkillers. He waited as she fiddled with the thermometer for a moment before putting it into Lucy’s ear. It gave a tick when the measurement started. Two seconds later a high pitched beeping sounded, and the display lit up with Lucy’s temperature.

“39 degrees,” Holly read aloud in a tone that was usually reserved for cold spots. Lockwood bit back a curse; there was no doubt Lucy felt miserable. Holly seemed to share his thoughts, as her frown deepened.

“How did we not notice you are sick?” 

“Don’t know,” Lucy mumbled. “didn’t notice myself, or I wouldn’t’ve-“ she struggled to find the words through her foggy mind “-come on the case…” all agents knew better than to take risks like that, and the last thing she wanted was to endanger her friends because she ignored a fever. “Sorry…” 

“Sometimes a cold just has an unexpected onset like that,” George said. He and Quill were standing in the door opening of the living room, watching with worried expressions. “There’s nothing you can do about that, Lucy, and nothing happened anyway.” 

“But…” Lucy started weakly, but Holly shook her head to stop her from apologising again and held out the cardboard box for Lucy to take.

“It’s not your fault you got sick. Just take some painkillers and rest up.” 

“I’ll get you something to wash them down with,” George promised before disappearing from sight again.   
He returned a few moments later, carrying a small tray with a steaming mug. Lockwood helped Lucy sit up, and she gratefully accepted the mug. Her eyes widened a little at her first sip, unfamiliar with the taste. 

“Hot water with lemon and honey,” George explained at her questioning look. “It should help sooth your throat, and I personally like the taste. Mum always made it when I got sick.”

“It’s good,” Lucy agreed. 

“I’d put water on to make tea anyway, if anyone wants some?” 

Lucy took the painkillers and returned to taking small sips from her mug as the offer was accepted by Lockwood and Holly and declined by Quill, who declared he was going to call a night cab back to his own flat now that he was sure Lucy would not keel over and die. 

Quill said goodbye to everyone and left, and Lucy drifted in and out of sleep while her other friends had their post-case cup of tea. They chatted quietly about Mr Darrigan and his wine collection until they finished their tea. His cup now drained, Lockwood crouched down at the sofa and gathered Lucy into his arms. 

“I’m taking her up to the attic,” He explained when he saw Holly and George watching him. “Feel free to take the reclining chair in the library, Hol.”

Lucy gave a mumble when he straightened up and shifted her to make holding her more comfortable, but didn’t wake up fully. Lockwood brought her to her room and gently tugged off her work boots before tucking her into bed. He slipped into the tiny attic bathroom to fill a glass and put it on her nightstand. 

After taking a moment to watch her, Lockwood walked to the door. He’d leave the attic door and his bedroom door open so he’d hear it if Lucy needed anything.   
“Lockwood?” Lucy croaked, and when he turned back to look at her, she was staring up at him through half-lidded eyes. He paused and walked back to her, ready to get her anything else she needed. Instead of a request, Lucy managed a drowsy “Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing, Luce,” Lockwood replied, pulling the duvet further over her shoulders. “We’ll take care of you as long as you need us to.” 

Lucy was too far gone to formulate a reply, but in the moments before she was lost to sleep entirely, she could swear she felt a soft kiss to her temple.

**Author's Note:**

> This little one-shot is my secret garden party gift to the lovely wolfjawswriter. I hope you enjoyed reading it!


End file.
